


To Get a Dirty Job Done (The Redheaded Woman Remix)

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Batgirl (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Remix, Rooftop Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick and Steph go undercover at a masked ball and things get a little hot and heavy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Get a Dirty Job Done (The Redheaded Woman Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amathela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amathela/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Redheads Have More Fun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3770896) by [amathela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amathela/pseuds/amathela). 



> Title from Springsteen. Thanks to N for looking it over so quickly.

Dick looks at the invitation and then runs through the list of potential partners again. Kory's too recognizable, Donna's on monitor duty on the Watchtower, Cass would feel awkward and he'd hate doing it to her. Kara's...Kara, and he's not sure he can deal with her level of enthusiasm (not to mention the nominally still-in-effect moratorium on Supers working in Gotham). Selina would do it, and then run off with the prize, and also Bruce would--well, Bruce would say he deserved it. Kate would probably deck him if he got fresh, even as part of a plan, and Helena's in New York.

"Just ask her," Babs says in his ear. "She's the best choice and Alfred already knows her size."

"Fine," he says. And it _is_ fine. He's glad to get some confirmation of his first choice for this mission, though. He hasn't worked with Steph much, but Babs and Tim and even Bruce vouch for her. Even Damian seems to like her, but that could just be the usual Batgirl-Robin thing that's sent all of them into a tizzy on occasion.

Steph arrives at the penthouse already dressed. "Alfred gave me the dress," she says. It's slinky and backless and she fills it out well. He's totally not thinking about whether her skin will feel as soft as it looks under his fingertips. She's even managed to cover the worst of her scars, and he can only see the silvery pink lines because he's looking for them. She doesn't seem self-conscious about them at all, but that could be because she's also showing quite a bit up front, as well. He'd like to say he'd never noticed when she's dressed as Batgirl, but he tries not to lie to himself too often.

That resolve gets tested again when Steph looks at the red wig and the cat ears on her mask and raises her eyebrows. 

"I have a thing for redheads," he says easily, giving her a wry smile.

"And the ears?"

"It's a masquerade," he reminds her. He doesn't mention the crush on Catwoman he'd had as Robin; it's irrelevant to the job at hand. "We don't want to be recognized."

She snorts. "I'm pretty sure no one at this party is going to recognize _me_."

"Safer that way," he says, and pulls on his own mask.

He explains the problem on the ride over. "Wayne tech has been disappearing and then showing up in other patents, and not the kind we want to see out on the streets. Everybody who's profited from it so far runs in the same circles." The circles Bruce pretends to be comfortable in, the ones Dick never embraced once he was old enough to get out of having to accompany Bruce to events like these. He understands the need for Brucie, but he's never wanted to wear that mask himself. Tim's better at it, anyway. Tim loves disguises. "Bruce thinks they're using social gatherings as meeting spaces. They're off the record, and nobody's going to be asking too many questions about who they're talking to."

"Greedy rich people," she says with a knowing nod. "Gotham's got no shortage of those. And you can't do this alone because?"

"Because this isn't exactly the kind of party you can show up alone to. I need a date."

"Okay."

"And," he says, "because I could use the backup. Plus, I thought it would be fun. We haven't worked together much and I thought we should." It sounds good when he says it. Professional and friendly. If it also sounds a little flirtatious, well, sometimes he can't help it.

*

He's right--her skin is soft and warm under his hand as he guides her into the ballroom. They scope the place out over glasses of expensive champagne, and she's already been noticed by several of the predators sniffing around the edges of the room. She must be aware of it, because her smile goes sharp. Or maybe she's seeing what he is.

"Over there?" she asks, tipping her head towards a far corner of the ballroom. There's a bar set up back there, and a group of men positioned at it, just far enough away from where everyone else is gathered so that they don't stand out but aren't likely to be easily overheard.

"Good eye," he says and resolutely ignores the slight pink flush washing over her chest. He takes her hand and leads her over with deceptive casualness. She falls into step with him and it feels right--Batman and Batgirl on the hunt.

He backs her against the other corner of the bar and slides a knee between her thighs. "Okay?"

Her hands come up to rest against his chest and she murmurs, "What are you doing?"

"Establishing a character," he replies, his mouth right up against her ear. She shivers and he nuzzles at her jaw in response. "There are two types of people at these events, and this seems like more fun than getting drawn into conversations about the stock market all evening."

"Fair enough," she says, her voice low and throaty. Her breath is warm and minty as they pretend to make out, and her skin is as silky as the dress when he slides a hand over her hip to urge her closer. It'd be easy--too easy--to lose himself in the heat of her, lush curves and solid muscle, and he reminds himself that that's for after the job is done, if she's interested, and not just a spectacular actress.

He catches sight of what he's looking for on the wrist of a man in a perfectly tailored tux, a gleam of chrome on his wrist that isn't a watch or a cufflink. 

He stills and cocks his head in a subtle gesture in the guy's direction. Steph follows his lead, turning her head just enough to be able to see him out of the corner of her eye.

"See it?" 

She hesitates for a moment and then gives him a nearly imperceptible nod.

"Wayne tech," he confirms. "They have it. We need it."

"Do you trust me?" she asks.

He can't see her eyes because of the mask, but her jaw is firm and her body's gone tense against him. "Yes," he breathes.

The grin she gives him in response is dazzling, and then they're shifting down the bar, towards the group of men who have had just enough to drink, or maybe are so rich and insulated from reality that they've stopped paying attention to their surroundings, because they don't seem to notice Dick and Steph's approach at all. 

Dick squeezes her hip and gives her one last quick kiss, and then she's heading for the ladies room. She times it perfectly, the little stumble, the dropped glass, the mark groping her while she slips the device off his wrist in a near-perfect pick.

She gives Dick a brief nod and he moves in, blustering like a drunk, jealous boyfriend. "Hey," he says, shoving the guy. "You hitting on my girl?"

The creep immediately backs up a step, holding up his hands, his cuffs thankfully covering his now-bare wrist. "Calm down," he says. "It was just a bit of fun. I don't want any trouble."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dick says, sliding an arm around Steph's waist as she palms the band off to him. "Come on, baby, let's go."

He steers her out the front door and around the corner, and then he grabs her hand and leads her down an alley and up a fire escape until they're a couple of rooftops away, out of sight but still able to see the building. Sure enough, it only takes a couple of minutes for five men to come storming out, splitting up and running both ways down the street, checking around corners but never looking up.

"Baby?" she asks, laughing breathlessly. They're pressed tightly together in the shadows, and the laugh vibrates through him, bubbly as all the champagne he didn't drink at the party.

"It seemed in character," he answers, his voice Batman-low.

"Good point." She gives him another bright smile. "Did we just pull that off?" she asks once the men looking for them are gone.

Dick grins back, flashing the tech briefly as he slips it onto his wrist. "Like a pro. We make a good team."

She raises an eyebrow skeptically. "They're going to remember us."

"The belligerent drunk guy and the redhead?" he asks. He slips the mask and wig off her head, his hand lingering on the back of her neck, his thumb brushing over the curve of her jaw. "All fixed."

"And I didn't even ruin my dress." She sounds nervous beneath the excitement.

He takes off his own mask and puts a hand on her hip. "Yet."

Her eyes widen and she says, "Um," but she doesn't push him away. He kisses her for real now, and she opens her mouth under his, pliant and hot, her hands tangling in his hair. 

They neck urgently for a few minutes, trading dizzying kisses until Dick's head is spinning. He shifts back to lean against the ledge of the roof and pulls her onto his lap, his hand sliding up the hard muscle of her thigh before he finds the wet crotch of her panties. She gasps into his mouth when he slips his fingers inside, his thumb circling roughly over her clit. She grinds down onto his hand, her breasts bouncing as she moves, and he pushes aside the flimsy material of the dress so he can suck on one peaked nipple through the thin lace of her bra.

She fumbles with his belt buckle and fly, and the brush of her fingers makes him gasp, his cock hard and aching. He can wait though, because she's tensing above him, her breath ragged and her hands clutching tightly as his shoulders. She comes with a low moan and a shudder, clenching around his fingers and soaking his hand. He strokes her through it until she pushes his hand away, her forehead pressed to his shoulder as she takes long shuddering breaths. He licks the wetness off his fingers and can't help the small, turned-on noise that escapes his lips. 

She manages to get his fly open and her hand around him, and it only takes a couple of strokes for him to go off like a rocket, like he's still sixteen and this is the first time he's had sex on a rooftop.

"That was good," she says, her voice hoarse and teasing against his ear, "but I think we could do better."

He hums his agreement and threads his fingers through her hair to pull her into another kiss. 

"But," he says reluctantly, after another few minutes of lazy making out. "Patrol first."

She sighs and licks her lips. "Meet me back here in an hour."

"It's a plan, Batgirl." He doesn't mean for it to sound quite as dirty as it does, but it's okay because she lets out a little choked off noise that makes him want to forget about patrolling and eat her out right here. But work has to come first. He'll just make sure they both get to come after.

*


End file.
